


Not So Unheard

by tincturedwords



Series: A Leaf Through A Shared History [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Blood, Character Study, Crucifixion, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Extended Scene, Female Crowley (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, angel tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincturedwords/pseuds/tincturedwords
Summary: Extended Scene. During the events of 33 A.D, Crowley observes Aziraphale tend the Son of God, wonders about angels compared to this one, and offers comfort at the end.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Leaf Through A Shared History [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572229
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Not So Unheard

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** ¡Spoilers! Language , Blood , Descriptions of Injuries , Descriptions of Wounds , Minor Character Death , Discussions of Faith / Religious Beliefs , Torture , etc.  
>  **Timeline:** Set during Good Omens ; s01e03 ( Hard Times )  
>  **Pairings:** Gen. Implied Aziraphale/Crowley.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **A/N:** This came about from rewatching episode three. I absolutely love the history bits with these two & I am beyond happy that in the series we get to see them through some key moments. So I decided to add my own or expand upon those shown / implied.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to Good Omens. Neither am I associated with Neil Giaman , Terry Pratchett , Amazon , BBC , or the actors who portray these characters. I make no money off any of my stories , this is purely for entertainment purposes.

" The ultimate test of man's conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard. " **\- Gaylord Nelson**

* * *

The crowd thinned as dusk turned to evening and then to night. Leaving in groups or one at a time until only the guards and those of Jesus’ family remained before the three pillars. Long shadows that displayed the horrible scene across the stretch of uneven sand , three men put to death by stake. one innocent amongst the others. The fading light illuminating the background , casting those strung up in shadow. It dimmed none of the wrongness that permeated the entirety of the atmosphere. 

Crowley and Aziraphale still stood abreast each other , neither bothered by the waning light and the falling temperature brought by the sun dipping further below the horizon. Now positioned more towards the side than centrally. Both unnoticeable by the remaining few with a miracle from each. All but those on the stakes themselves. 

Crowley heard the soft ruffle of feathers as the angel’s wings manifested into the physical plane. A glance towards the other , the demon noted Aziraphale began to faintly glow , a silvery glow with a hint of gold highlighted his frame and brightened his grim features. Feeling the divinity fuel the corporation Aziraphale inhabited had him taking a few small steps away , uncertain of what exactly was causing the angel to lower his barriers between his true self and his physical form. 

“I am to go to him.” Aziraphale explained, looking to Crowley with a beryl gaze more lucent yet sorrowful than the demon had ever seen , “To , to give comfort … one last time.” 

Crowley blinked, an unvoicable grief gripping her insides and stalling her words. Her features grimaced against showing anything more than her distaste for the situation, she nodded. Whether it was confirmation or agreement to wait until the angel returned, she didn’t know. She wasn’t certain Aziraphale did either, but off the angel went. 

Traversing the expanse of sand between them and the stakes with a celestial ease, seeming to glide with each steps. His wings unfolding from along his back to spread outwards as he approached the stake holding Jesus, and with a slight tilt then whoosh of both wings , the angel was held aloft nearer to God’s son. Subtle flaps every few minutes of the wings kept him there. 

With a bit of help from his own occult powers , Crowley eavesdropped. No good could come from , in Hell’s books , consorting with the enemy or creating attachments to mortals. But Crowley had done both, and not for the first time. Thus she could excuse this bit of bad, or rather rudeness by eavesdropping as appealing any questions that may crop up later on about her lingering when the temptations where long over. 

She could catch the whispers of conversation on the soft breeze that blew in from the east. It growing in strength as the sun continued its descent from the sky. She shivered once before focusing more fully. 

“— mother and her sister?” Came a gasped question from the son. 

“Yes, they are still here.” She heard Aziraphale reply, voice clement, “They haven’t left.” 

No reply was forthcoming from Jesus then, only a soft exhalation of air that seemed to be a sigh of relief. To which Aziraphale gently lay his hand on Jesus’ cheek, offering a touch of solace in company only. The angel had explained before he was banned from doing anything to prevent, halt, or lessen the conditions and sufferings that God’s son was to endure. 

“Take heart, dear boy.” Aziraphale encouraged, words filled with an odd intertwining of fortitude and compassion. 

Jesus lifted his head a fraction to look at the angel before him, “I do not despair over this. It is necessary.” 

Aziraphale nodded, “Indeed. You are strong to endure this. And are proving your faith to The Almighty as you have done much before.” 

Several moments of silence elapsed then. Crowley kept her ears perked to capture anymore pieces of conversation that may come, whilst wrapping herself more so in the folds of her clothes. 

“Wh, what is your name?” Rasped Jesus, his head had dropped back to his chest best it could with his arms pinned above his head. 

Aziraphale gingerly swiped at the sweat beading up and dropping down the son’s forehead, “You need not worry over my name, dear boy. The only names that matter here are yours and our heavenly mother’s, Jehovah.” 

Silence again followed, although much more brief before Aziraphale’s voice rose again. Whispered to the point Crowley had to strain to hear. 

“But if it brings you comfort to know my name…” A pause lay between them, before a flicker of shadow told Crowley that Jesus had managed a nod, then the angel continued, “It is Aziraphale.” 

“Aziraphale.” The angel’s designation was drawn out with more syllables than strictly necessary, even with a name so long already. The human was growing weaker. 

“Yes. I was once Angel of the Eastern Gate.” Aziraphale explained further, hoping to give the son something to focus upon instead of the pain and upsetting circumstances. 

He knew Jesus despised that he was being executed as a blasphemer. Having been privy to the unrest within the son’s heart over such a claim when the charge of fulfilling this promise was given him. The duress and hurt it’s healed upon the human’s heart. 

Jesus’ eyes opened to look at the angel, “Would you tell me?”

Aziraphale’s own eyes widened at the request, uncertain he grasped the full meaning given the hoarse quality to the son’s voice, “About my duties on Earth?” 

“Yes.” Came the soft response. 

Long were the hours that Aziraphale kept near the only begotten son of God, investing each moment with words of comfort, support, and sharing his own stories to give an anchor to this physical realm when the pain grew too great for the son or Jesus’ breathing stuttered against the pressure of his own weight suffocating him. As well the angel, lent of a listening ear when Jesus had gasped out words of his own. 

Shifting on her feet, Crowley continued her own silent vigil in the distance. Tawny gaze fixated upon the angel and the torture stake that displayed the son grievously upon its wood. Ire had taken hold shortly after Aziraphale had left her side, bubbling and boiling up within. Tampering down on the chill, keeping it from seeping through her clothes as it’s usual wont when night fell. 

Wondering vehemently how a God that professed to be one of love could condemn Her child to such a fate. He could see why demons were cast out and punished, they had disobeyed. Although small in some cases, but they had done something to deserve it, no matter if she agreed or not. Same with the Humans, they’d fallen to her temptation. But Jesus, he had done nothing. A perfect man amongst the imperfect. A vessel to be used to redeem those Humans who’d sinned and had inherited it. 

A rather brutal destiny to be given, but Jesus had done it. Was doing it. Crowley had to give props to the mortal, even if he would be resurrected, or so Aziraphale had told her, to live in Heaven once again. Not even her material temptations of food and all the kingdoms could sway the human’s steadfast faith. Had to credit the conviction, despite it being a mark against her record as a demon.  
The human wasn’t half bad when they’d talked, stern but polite. That’d been unexpected since he was the opposite of everything Jesus loved and stood for. 

Yet in watching the angel work to ease the idle hours between night and morning for Jesus had Crowley reevaluating his views. God was a creator of all living things, thus meaning Aziraphale was a spawn of Her. As where all the other brown nosing, sticklers up in Heaven. But with Aziraphale he saw the traits and attitude that everyone held angels to. The love, the kindness, the affectionate for God’s creatures. 

As well as the traits not so fond amongst angels such as his love of stories , of consuming Earth cuisine ( despite not needing to eat ) , and the angel had a way of turning a phrase to fit his needs. Definitely made for intriguing company. 

But it was the innate compassion for the humans that lead him to gift away his flaming sword so the two first humans wouldn’t freeze or be without protection that’d draw Crowley’s curiosity. At the time of the Great Flood, Crowley’s previous assumptions had been shaken by the angel’s lack it when he explained what was happening, but later one The Ark had proven it hadn’t been disinterest or lack of caring that’d hindered Aziraphale’s hand. There was truly nothing the angel could have done, and it was safer in the end for him to have followed along than go against and risk falling. 

A scuffle of sandals on sand drew Crowley’s attention outwards from her musings. Noticing the two women, one being Jesus’ mother and her sister, that had remained when all else but the guards had left began to shuffle their way back towards one of the houses, Crowley watched them go. Their hitched breathes and muffled sobs following in their wake, but they could stay no longer. 

For the early peakings of dawn we’re beginning to lighten the sky. Deep indigo bleeding away to a luminous azure and further to a brightening cerulean mingled with the yellowish - gold that told sunrise wasn’t far off. And everyone knew that with sunrise, if those upon the torture stakes still drew breath, their ends would be forced upon them. 

Not by arrow to the chest nor sword to an artery, no that would be far too swift for them. Instead a club was taken to the limbs and chest of each man impaled, striking to break and fracture the bones beneath. In hopes the combination of renewed agony and poison to the blood as marrow seeped from the severed internals would snuff their life force with still enough suffering to abide the cruelty that humanity seemed to cultivate. 

“I’m thirsty.” 

Those words had caught Crowley’s attention, once again he was pulled forth from his internal thoughts. Dower and grim they had turned. It was Jesus’ voice, nearly sapped of all strength and vitality that had once abounded from the human. A demon Crowley was, but he could tell that it was nearing the end for Jesus’ time on Earth. The rattle of his next breath confirmed Crowley’s guess, he hadn’t long at all. 

Crowley observed Aziraphale look about himself then spy the jar of sour wine. Something to tease those being executed and a blessing for those deemed deserving of a last drink. The angel tilted his wings to drop to the sand and go about soaking the sponge in the wine before rising back up with a soft flutter of his wings to hold the sponge to Jesus’ lips. Patiently allowing the human to drink what he could from the saturated sponge, break for each weak breath and do so again. 

Another wheezed breath, words whisps upon the next exhalation, “It is accomplished.” 

Jesus’ head fell forward, and he didn’t draw in another breath. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s features contorted in grief over all the man had suffered and sacrificed for humanity, and to prove faith in a God who’d allowed this to happen. The angel swept his hand over the still man’s cheek, an ancient set of words whispered past his lips. Feeling the utterance rather than grasping any true words, her head ached at the sensation even whilst her chest constricted at the presence of raw sorrow and heartfelt love that saturated the soft voice of the principality. 

The low murmurs that signalled a waking village grew from a quiet background hum to a louder note. The day of the Sabbath was upon them with the brightening of the sky and none wanted deaths to occur on this sacred time, thus the the petition went up to hasten the process. 

It was readily approved. Pilate’s ready agreeance claimed a holiness that was belaid by his actions in the sentencing of Jesus’ death. Ever since the trail and the persecution of The Christ, the true colours of that man had been laid bare in the light. Only his position kept the soldiers listening to him and the others respectful. 

It was a facade that Crowley was familiar with, more and more humans seemed to erect a presence of sanctity whilst being sublunary in secret. It was becoming a near common occurrence, almost a practise to be perfected. 

Drawn once again from his musings at movement from the place of execution, this time of the angel himself. The other had extended his wings to gain height from where he had spent the night hovering beside the Son of God. Momentarily suspended above the scene before he angled his wings to turn towards where Crowley still stood, flying soundlessly and unobserved over the crowd to land on the land just past them. Plumes of dust wafted up from under his sandals, a touch heavy on the landing she noted, but as the angel stepped nearer it became apparent that his mind hadn’t been on flying nor landing with any sort of finesse. 

“He’s gone.” Aziraphale said once he reached Crowley’s side, his expression teeming with sorrow, “He was gone before the order went out”. 

“I heard.” 

“You heard?” Confusion, curiosity, and a touch of admonition graced the angel’s tone, however his countenance remained unmoved.

“Well, I have to justify my continued being here, don't I?” Crowley explained with a shrug, glancing away, “Bit of eavesdropping, not bad exactly, but the excuse works enough.” 

Aziraphale managed to summon a soft lift to the corners of his lips, seeing Crowley’s true reason for wanting to stay, but he pretended otherwise and was quick to conceal his expression. Smiling now seemed a poor choice anyway this day. 

“Right.” Was all he said.

A short moment’s silence followed, both their attention held captive by the movements of the soldiers. Flinching, features pinching in a severe grimace at the screams from the last prisoner who’d been hit with the rod to break his bones. The outpouring of agony lasted only a short moment before falling to breathless gasps and whimpers when his ribs were hit next. 

Renewed was the ache to her head at hearing another whisper of the ancient language of the angels. It’s power laced through every syllable, seeming to jar the bones and charge the air with a subtle intensity that bore a great weight despite it being whispered so. Barely a whisp of a breath the angel had spoken, and the last man fell silent with a contrasting look of peace upon his features. Still he heart beat, audible thought faint it was, but the agony had been balmed by whatever blessing the angel had uttered. 

Crowley was moved by this angel. Not for the first time since they’d met. Their interactions had been brief, or strained, since The Garden, but still this one angel continued surprise her. Gifting his sword to protect two new and recently very disobedient mortals because they lacked protection and warmth. Little thought had been given to the consequences based upon the angel’s agitation and worry afterwards when they talked together on the wall. A compassion he’d given into than merely stated, he had helped instead of simply uttered prayers or blessings. 

Granted the earthly creatures were only recently created, barely a week old everything had been on this planet, but never had Crowley witnessed that degree of love, proper love, for something from any of the other angels. Seeming distant and practised whenever expressed by others, never felt nor sacrificed for. 

Falling hadn’t tainted any of his memories of heaven, a touch more painful they were to recall, but intact they were. None were alike to Aziraphale. As his first encounter had told him, the angel only continued to confirm it. Whereas heaven seemed to unstain their cold detachment throughout. No, this angel was much apart from the side he called his own as she was to hers. Just he didn’t realise it, despite seeming to know something didn’t feel right. 

Cries more akin to wails from the mother, the mother’s sister, and several others could be heard. There was no dry eye amongst the humans who had loved and followed Jesus. Neither were a few of the soldiers that surrounded the area, perhaps having a differing opinion and belief that the one they were ordered to follow. Little they could do to resist unless they wished punishment upon themselves. 

A sniffle to his right startled the demon then. Turning his head to see gleaming silver tears tracing tracks down the angel’s paled cheeks, great rivulets of shining moisture ran to drip off his chin. Eyes widen at the scene, uncertain and a tad concerned as he’d never seen the angel give to weeping before this moment. 

“Death is a permanent end for humans on this physical plane, never will they see their son again.” Aziraphale strove to explain his grief, struggling to wipe away the continuous stream of tears, “Nor will his apostles talk with him again, to share in his wisdom and friendship. Poor Peter must be distraught.” 

Crowley nodded, “You don’t have to give reason to it. Nothing wrong with having a good cry. Helps. I think.” 

“I know there’s a purpose for this, to save all the other humans, but…” Aziraphale trailed off, scrubbing the heel of his hand underneath one eye whilst sniffling again. 

“But it’s hard. He suffered and despite being a Principality, you couldn’t help him.” Crowley hazarded a guess at the rest of Azirpahale’s sentence, although it wasn’t much of a guess as she was certain of the other’s train of thought, “That it?” 

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes still wet but no more tears fell, head bowing to stare at the amber hued sand and his dust covered sandals before he glanced upwards once more in the direction of the still gathered humans, “He wanted to do this, he hated not the means of how he was to die or that it had to be him, but that he was branded a blasphemer. I know why but—“

“What say you to grabbing a drink with me?” Crowley suddenly cut in, interrupting the angel from straying into possibly questioning talk, “It’s a holy day I know, but wasn’t Jesus who said that wine was good for the health? You can drink it in sparingly if that will help, but a drink… A drink to him and his sacrifice?” 

Crowley had nodded towards where the Soldiers had lain out the body of the Christ, covering it with a large span of linen now, “He deserves a better send off than the one he got.” 

She held the angel’s gaze steadily, imploring and inviting she attempted to keep her expression. Although the flare of worry she felt at hearing such speech from the angel, knowing it came not from a place of rebellion as her own was, thus despising the thought of this angel falling for asking questions of the almighty when it was born of love and compassion. 

If it was willed she could do nothing to stop it, but perhaps if she could distract Aziraphale and silent the words from being spoken aloud She would ignore the thoughts that’d no doubt already had run through the angel’s head. Perhaps She would excuse them in light of an angel of Hers’ sadness? Grief did blind those afflicted by it, did so for humans in the least and exceptions were being made more and more for them. Why not a a loyal Principality of Hers? One who’s love has driven him to tears. 

Within the confines of her own mind, Crowley called a prayer she knew wouldn’t be heard towards the heavens for it to be so. 

“I think I would like that.” Aziraphale finally answered, a wobbly smile tugged at his lips in show of his gratitude, “Follow you then?” 

… perhaps not so unheard then. 

“Right this way, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** There may be a part two to come to this chapter, if its wanted, from Aziraphale’s perspective which is why this story will be split into two parts. I can’t resist expanding upon their history together during different time periods. There’s honestly so much that can be explored with these two & I am endeavouring to dive deep into it.
> 
> I was raised religious, you can probably tell which religion by the verbiage I use in this, but I ask that there’s no religious discourse in the comments. This is about Crowley & Aziraphale, not religion or correctness of religion as there are many differing views / thoughts / beliefs / faiths. I’m not even really religious myself anymore, I’m just writing what I know.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome or just any comments that come to mind about something you liked / didn’t like or reactions to any given part. Whatever it may be , feel free to say something about it. I would love to know & hear from you , but never feel obligated to comment / review if you aren’t up for it.
> 
>  **Note :** This timeline is taken directly after the Crucifixion scene , & filled in with my interpretation from the scriptures John 19:25-37 telling of the events that took place.
> 
>  **Note#2 :** It is confirmed by Neil Gaiman himself that Crowley presents as female during the crucifixion scene thus she uses female pronouns here.
> 
>  **Note#3 :** There are many types of love & with Aziraphale being an angel, in essence a being of love, there will be many shows of this. Such as we see Aziraphale show more a familial / brotherly love to Jesus, then a more friendly one to Crowley. It’s small but every relationship begins somewhere. The point of this note is to essentially say Aziraphale will show love to others, but he will only end up in love with Crowley in this series. No one else.


End file.
